


Little White Pills

by Anonymous



Series: Baby We're On Fire [5]
Category: That '70s Show
Genre: F/M, One-Shot, still not the sequel, that's really all there is to say about this one, this is sad y'all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:54:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22355188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: She takes two pills and locks herself in the bathroom. She waits for an end.
Relationships: Jackie Burkhart/Steven Hyde
Series: Baby We're On Fire [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1341085
Comments: 11
Kudos: 52
Collections: Anonymous





	Little White Pills

**Author's Note:**

> This newest extra is brought to you by the reviewer Athereal, whose wonderful comments (all of which I loved, don’t ever apologize for sending 4 comments in 24hrs it was fucking awesome) have kicked up some story ideas. (I know you said you want happy but this is what the muse gave me)
> 
> This is just a quick introduction to what Jackie’s state of mind will be in the sequel, whenever I can get it done. The sequel is still kicking my ass, y’all. I’m super sorry about that, there’s just so much shit to pack into it and it’s a little overwhelming to the point of not letting me get anything down. I’m trying, though!
> 
> Anyway, let’s begin.
> 
> **THIS STORY CONTAINS A MAJOR SPOILER FOR _Endless Midnights_ SO IF YOU HAVE NOT READ THAT, DO SO NOW**
> 
> **Timeline:** during Chapter 15, from Jackie’s POV.
> 
> **Warnings:** miscarriage, and it’s a lot more graphic about it than _Endless Midnights_ was

The room is small. The seat is cold, the walls are blue, and her hospital gown is thin. She aches in a way she’d never thought her body could ache.

Eleven weeks. She had carried for eleven weeks — known for two — and shared that joy with her husband for all of one minute before everything shattered. All her plans, all her dreams, all her wishing and wanting and waiting for the perfect moment to finally tell Steven and—

Something rips through her, something powerful and terrible and she curls in on herself, biting down on the end of her gown as she waits for it to pass.

How long does this process take, she wonders, and will she know when it’s over?

Steven had wanted to be there, had wanted to hold her as the world fell apart, but she wouldn’t let him. She couldn’t. This was supposed to be a happy time, the beginning of the next stages of their life together. She was supposed to present him with a baby and change them from husband and wife to father and mother and she couldn’t fucking do it, couldn’t do the _one thing_ her body was designed for, and she couldn’t let him watch her as she failed.

Pain lashes through her again and she feels something shift, something move inside her that has no right to move.

The nurse had offered her pain medicine and she had said no. This is her punishment. This is what she deserves. She’d torn apart the Formans and the Kelsos, stolen Steven away from the only family he’d known, and abandoned her parents without even a goodbye. This is her sentence. This is the moment God had been waiting for, the moment where the sheer audacity of thinking she could have her new life and her old finally catches up to her and reminds her that she had never been held accountable for the lives she’d ruined, and now she must be ruined in turn.

There is a sound from the toilet, a plop, sick and squelching and echoing endlessly as she fights the urge to throw up. She bites harder, curls smaller, clenches her eyes so tight she can see stars.

Yellow. The nursery was going to be yellow — like butterscotch, soft and soothing and easy enough to decorate for a baby or a child or a teen. There was going to be a wall just for drawing on and a corner just for music and a child just for them. A family they could hold. Someone they could do right by, could raise so much better than their parents had raised them. Steven would make sure they were healthy and didn’t get spoiled and Jackie would make sure they were happy and heard how loved they were every single day and it would be perfect, absolutely _perfect_ like she had always known it would be.

But the walls are blue, and her baby cannot see them, and a pain burns through her again.

_Emily. Ashlee. Gabrielle._

She will never hold her.

_Annabeth. Layla. Morgan._

Never put her in little princess dresses or teach her about hair or makeup or U-joints.

_Tyler. Jordan. Christopher._

She will never cradle him.

_Jesse. Thomas. Noah._

Never help him with his homework or show him how to cook or iron or do an oil change.

She will never mark their growth on the door frame, never cheer them on at a basketball game, never pretend not to notice Steven congratulate them for getting into trouble at school. They will not walk, they will not speak, they will not know how much she had wanted them.

_Please be done please be done please be done,_ she prays as she bites down down _down_ , as her organs betray her and try to escape to a new body that isn’t _so fucking useless_ —

**_This was supposed to be a happy time._** She cries, silent and enraged. **_We’re supposed to be planning birth announcements and baby showers and a nursery._** She chokes, tortured and desperate. _I’m supposed to be a mother._ She tenses, empty and frail.

She doesn’t know how long she stays in the bathroom, doesn’t know when the pain fades to a horrible numbness or when things stop falling out of her, but eventually she decides it is safe to stand. She unlocks the door and wanders out. A nurse darts in after her. She falls into Steven’s arms, though she does not deserve it, and she does not look back.

Steven leads her to the bed and crawls in beside her. She lies limp across his chest. She can’t go on like this, not to him, not when he is surely hurting from what is surely her fault. She has to snap out of it, she has to be strong, but she is _so tired_.

Tomorrow. She can pull herself together then. For now, she’ll mourn. Just for a little while. Just for today.

Her eyes fall shut against her will, her mind filled with images of building blocks and rocking chairs and things she cannot have.

Steven’s arms tighten around her. She sleeps. She dreams.

_I’m sorry._

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the angst, lovelies, but it’s all I got in me right now! (I’m good, that wasn’t a remark about my personal situation, just on my lack of inspiration for happier prompts.)
> 
> I read a lot of firsthand accounts about miscarriages, more than I ever wanted to read, and I hope I did it justice.
> 
> Please take this depressing offering while I try to scrape together a sequel that’s taking a lot longer than even I expected.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
